All Hang Together
by Ithilwen of Himring
Summary: Part 5 of the Maedhros series. Fingon rides to Himring to hear a proposal from Maedhros. Silmarillion-based.
1. Part 1

Disclaimer; The usual - all these characters belong to J. R. R. Tolkien, and not to me; I'm merely borrowing them for this tale.

This is the 5th story in my Maedhros series - I recommend reading them in proper order for maximum enjoyment, but this will probably make sense even if you haven't read the others.

All Hang Together - Part 1

They stood together idly gazing out the window overlooking the courtyard as they watched the storm blowing in from the northwest. When the first fat droplets began to fall, the taller of the two men swore softly under his breath, then smiled ruefully and turned to his brother. "I was hoping that this rain wouldn't break until after their arrival. But the luck of the Noldor holds true, just as always. Fingon and his men are going to be soaked through by the time they get here. We'd better start the fires in the guest quarters now, so they'll be warm when he arrives. And get some water heated - there's nothing quite like a hot bath after you've been travelling for days, especially when you're as chilled as he will be."

"I'll see that everything is prepared, you know that." Maglor looked at his brother Maedhros and smiled. "I wish you could see yourself, Russandol. I can't remember the last time I've seen you this obviously happy. It's been far too long since you've had a smile on your face."

"For that you can blame our Enemy, and the constant fighting; low level, yes, but since the Battle of Sudden Flame ended, there's never been any real letup. I grow so tired of it; some days, brother, I remember the years of the Siege, when we actually had time to ride for pleasure, and hunt, and even visit our kin on occasion, and those days seem like a dream now, something unreal I thought up as a distraction - surely fighting is all we've ever done, we never enjoyed such a thing as peace! With Dorthonion and Ard-Galen destroyed, and so many of our cousins lost - I've felt so isolated, Maglor, trapped here in my March, unable to leave lest Morgoth launch another major offensive in my absence. And now to find that Fingon is actually coming here himself - I'd expected we'd be discussing this by courier, in a polite exchange of letters. I never imagined he'd ride here to Himring, skirting all the long way around Doriath, merely to discuss my proposal. To actually see him again - it's more than I could ever have hoped for!"

"I know how much you've missed him - and all our cousins," Maglor added hastily as he saw a stricken, hurt look briefly cross his brother's face. They'd never spoken about what had transpired between them that fateful evening in Hithlum; it had been obvious to Maglor that despite his comforting words to Maedhros, his brother remained deeply ashamed of his desires, and he had been unable to think of any way to tactfully raise the subject with him that would not cause Maedhros even more pain than he already felt. Loathe to upset his brother further, he had remained silent, and the moment had passed; he wished now, with Fingon's arrival imminent, that he'd somehow found a way to bridge that silence between them. _At least he won't lack for privacy here, should he need it_, Maglor thought sadly. _A small mercy, at least. I wish now we had not departed Aman, for his sake - perhaps in the gardens of Lórien he might have found some healing for his affliction. As it is now, I can only pray that the Valar will watch over him. Of all of my brothers, it is he who bears the least guilt. He alone openly opposed Father's plan to burn the ships, and later atoned for it - why is he the one among us who has suffered most? _ Aloud, he said only, "I will also be glad of the company. It has been too long since we last left east Beleriand, and I'd enjoy some news from the west. Especially if there's any that's happy."

"I suspect there will be little of that," Maedhros replied, "but one can always hope." He suddenly broke off the conversation and turned his attention completely back to the window, staring intently. The rain was now coming down hard, but far in the distance Maglor saw what had caught his brother's eye - a troop of riders, the one in the lead bearing the standard of Fingolfin's House. "They'll be here shortly - let's go see to the fires, brother, and the hot water," Maedhros said, joy in his voice, "oh, and you'd better tune your harp; I'll expect Fingon is looking forward to hearing you sing almost as much as I am." He turned back to the window to close the shutters, then the two oldest sons of Fëanor left to see to the final preparations for the arrival of their cousin, now High King of the Noldor in Beleriand.

*******

Fingon had indeed been sopping wet upon his arrival; that, as well as his obvious discomfort when Maedhros had bowed to him in deference upon welcoming him to the fortress of Himring, had somewhat undercut his attempt to appear regal. He quickly abandoned it anyway, in favor of giving both his cousins a hug, soaked though he was - he was obviously as happy to see them as they were to see him, Maglor realized. It had felt odd watching Maedhros, whom Fingon had idealized as a child and who had always been the leader in their relationship, bowing before his younger cousin, formally acknowledging his sovereignty over them as the High King of the Noldor. But when they began to talk, it quickly became apparent that nothing had really changed between them, despite Fingon's elevation in rank. Fingon was still Fingon, as plainspoken and straightforward as ever, and clearly eager to spend time with his favorite cousin again. It hardly seemed possible thatso many years could have passed since their last meeting, but the last time the three of them had been together had been shortly before the Battle of Sudden Flames, 13 years of the sun and a lifetime ago.

"So, what news from Hithlum, cousin?" Maedhros asked; Fingon, after seeing to the comfort of his retinue and changing his wet and travel-stained clothes, had asked his cousins to join him in his sitting room "to warm my fëa with their presence while I warm my hröa by the fire," as he put it. " How is your family? Your son, Ereinion, he's nearly 17 now, is he not? I remember you at that age - all eagerness and curiosity, and no common sense! I hope he's running you ragged, for you deserve it - a fitting retribution for all the grief you caused your own parents, and me, when you were young!" Maedhros laughed.

"No, he's no trouble to me," and Fingon sighed, hesitating for a moment; when he continued, his voice was subdued, "although I hear he's become a fine boy, and a credit to our grandfather Finwë's House. I haven't seen him for nearly 5 years, and that was just a brief visit - I sent him, and my wife, to Círdan's people in the Falas about a year after the Battle of Sudden Flames ended."

"I'm sorry, Fingon - I didn't realize just how bad things were in the northwest, that you'd choose to send your own family away while your child was still so young. But at least they're safe for now - no orc raids can reach the coast as long as you can hold the Pass of Sirion closed," Maedhros replied softly.

"I can, for now at least, but it's a struggle. We are constantly fighting small skirmishes over control of Eithel Sirion and the Pass. Be grateful you never married, cousin, and have no children - every time I rode into battle I found myself worrying about their safety instead of my own, terrified that if my troops failed, my family would find themselves in Mandos before the day was over. With them out of immediate danger, I can at least concentrate on fighting instead of worrying myself sick over them. Although I miss Angrod's and Aegnor's support, at least I know that if I should fall, both Círdan and Orodreth will do what they need to do in order to close the Pass of Sirion again - although it will take them time to get there. But I doubt that any of Morgoth's forces will penetrate as far as the Falas as long as Círdan and Orodreth act quickly."

"I miss our cousins also," Maedhros replied quietly, "and your father. But I'm glad to hear that our cousin Orodreth is not the fool that Thingol is, and at least recognizes that he can't simply cower in safety in Nargothrond forever while Morgoth does what he pleases elsewhere. Unlike Finrod, he's shown little interest in events here in the east - although Maglor and I have managed to recapture the Pass of Aglon, we still don't control Maglor's Gap fully. Morgoth's spawn destroyed Thargelion during the Battle of Sudden Flames when they successfully forced the Gap, and if his forces ever come through again in numbers, I don't know how far south they might be able to successfully penetrate. It's a less direct route to Nargothrond than the pass of Sirion would provide, but potentially no less dangerous. Yet I've heard no word from Orodreth since he assumed the kingship after Finrod's death, and I was beginning to worry that he thought events in the north were of no direct concern to him."

Fingon looked away, a troubled expression on his face. "I stayed at Nargothrond briefly on my journey here, largely to see him - I wanted to tell him how sorry I was about Finrod, and remind him that even though all of his brothers are gone, he still has family here in Beleriand, he's not completely alone. I know a little of how he feels, with my father dead now, and Turgon and Aredhel still nowhere to be found; granted Galadriel is still alive, but I don't think Orodreth has seen her in years, she's probably still living in Doriath. Anyway," he continued, turning to look directly at Maedhros and Maglor again, and now appearing very sober, "he was not pleased when he found out that the reason for my travels was to visit you. He wants nothing to do with any of 'those traitorous, Valar-damned sons of Fëanor,' as he calls you."

Maedhros swore viciously, a vile soldier's curse which caused Fingon to stare at him in surprise; Maglor merely replied, "I am so tired of everyone lumping me and all of my brothers together as 'those sons of Fëanor', as though we are all identical in thoughts and actions. Is it asking too much that we each be judged by our individual deeds instead of our parentage?"

"That's what I told Orodreth," Fingon replied, "but he's in no mood to listen to reason. Finrod's death hit him hard, and he holds your two wild younger brothers responsible for it, not surprisingly - and also the rest of you, all guilty by association. I'm sorry, it's wrong, but that is how he sees things now. You will find in him no ally."

"I should have gone to Nargothrond and brought Celegorm and Curufin back myself," Maedhros replied, "but Maglor and I were too besieged here to spare thought to anything but holding the Pass of Aglon closed, and by the time the crisis here was over, it was too late - they'd already left. I'd wring their necks myself, brothers or no, if it would bring Finrod back. But it won't, and I was hoping that Orodreth would recognize that we all must cooperate in our defense of Beleriand, especially now. This will definitely complicate my plans."

"What plans?" Fingon replied. "You said nothing very specific in your letter, just that you'd like to discuss an idea pertaining to the defense of our kingdoms with me, and would I be interested in hearing it. You're a better strategist than I, we both realize that; Father's equal, I'd say. Of course I'm interested! So let's hear it - what bold scheme have you devised for our security?"

"It's nearly time for dinner; we don't have time to discuss my proposal, or my reasons for suggesting it, in any detail - that will have to wait until later," Maedhros said, a smile on his face, "and when I tell you what I'm thinking, cousin, you will probably believe I've gone mad. But trust me - I haven't, and when you hear my reasons for what I propose we do, I think you will agree with them. Promise me you won't dismiss my idea out of hand, that you will agree to discuss it with me seriously after dinner, and I will tell you my proposal now, in brief."

"Of course I'll discuss it with you later; that's why I came, after all, to hear this brilliant idea my cousin Russandol has thought up," Fingon replied, sounding slightly exasperated. "So tell me - what is it?"

"I think it is time we attack Morgoth directly," Maedhros replied, "for I am certain that we can defeat him."

(To Be Continued)

Notes:

Russandol – "Copper-top"; an affectionate nickname given to Maedhros by his family in acknowledgement of his reddish-brown hair. See _The Peoples of Middle Earth (History of Middle Earth, vol. 12)_, p. 353.


	2. Part 2

Disclaimer; The usual - all these characters belong to J. R. R. Tolkien, and not to me; I'm merely borrowing them for this tale.

This is the 5th story in my Maedhros series - I recommend reading them in proper order for maximum enjoyment, but this will probably make sense even if you haven't read the others.

All Hang Together - Part 2

"You **have **gone mad, Russandol! We can't launch a direct assault on Morgoth - it would be suicide!" Fingon stopped his pacing for a moment to stare at his older cousin in bewilderment. Dinner was over, and the three cousins had retired once more to Fingon's sitting room to continue their discussion. It was clear from Fingon's agitation that whatever he had been expecting to hear, this wasn't it.

"If I'm mad, Fingon, then so was your father - this is what he wanted to do for years, you know that. He was never able to gain the necessary support before the Battle of Sudden Flames, though; I think that will be different now. And I'm not proposing that we just walk up to Angband and knock on the gates - that **would** be suicide," Maedhros replied. "No, what I'm planning is closer to a repeat of the Glorious Battle - we should lure Morgoth's forces far out onto the Anfauglith, then annihilate them between our armies, which would move in simultaneously from both the east and west."

"It's too risky..." Fingon began to reply, but Maedhros cut him off with an impatient gesture.

"No, it's not. Cousin, the true risk comes from not trying this. Now that the Siege has been broken, we're fighting a real war, and it's a war of attrition now, one we're certain to lose. Consider how many of our kin have died already - Angrod, Aegnor, Finrod, your father. How many children have the Noldor had during this exile? We both know the number is not nearly enough to replace all of the people we have lost. Our numbers are dwindling, slowly but steadily. Even our human allies, who are far more prolific than we, are having a hard time keeping up with their losses. But Morgoth seems to have no difficulty replenishing his orcs, and the Valar alone know what else he might be breeding in his filthy pits. If we keep to our present course, one of two things will inevitably happen. Either he'll continue to wear us down with these steady skirmishes until our kingdoms collapse, or he'll launch a major offensive at the time and place of **his** choosing. A repeat of the Battle of Sudden Flames - and this time, it won't end in a draw, he'll completely crush our armies and sweep into Beleriand unopposed. No, I believe that our only hope lies in an offensive strategy - to engage and defeat his forces while we still retain enough strength to do so, " Maedhros said, with a strange tone in his voice. _He sounds almost eager_, Maglor noted to himself.

"But that's the problem - we don't have enough strength to do what you propose! Perhaps before the Battle of Sudden Flames, but not now. We lost too many troops when Dorthonion and Ard-Galen were burned," Fingon said.

Maedhros nodded, then turned to look out the window for a moment, watching the storm still raging. When he turned to face them again, his face appeared calm, but his eyes betrayed his excitement. "We don't have the forces we had before, that's true. It would have been far easier while the Siege still held, but no one wanted to act then, despite your father's urging - most of our kin wanted to forget that we came to these shores to fight a war, not merely to build beautiful cities and explore new lands. I suppose I can't blame them for that; even I tried to put that fearful knowledge behind me, although I could never hope to completely succeed." He paused for a moment then said in a soft voice, "You would think that after nearly 600 years I would be accustomed to it, but cousin, not a day goes by that I do not miss my hand - and remember how I came to lose it. I will never forget what Morgoth did to me, or what he wants to do to our people." He paused again, looking down at the stump of his right wrist, which he rubbed gently for a moment with his remaining hand, then sighed. When he again turned towards Fingon, his eyes were filled with fire. "Be that as it may, we can't go back in time and undo our past mistakes. Even if we no longer have the forces we once did, I believe we still control enough. I think the Dwarves of Belegost and Nogrodwill join in an alliance against our mutual enemy - they suffered almost as much as we did when Thargelion was ravaged. The House of Bëor may be too decimated to be of much help, but the Haladin and the House of Hador remain firmly allied, and they're good fighters. And I have new allies in these men coming from the east."

"I don't know, Maedhros. Can we count on the Dwarves? And these new men - how are they as warriors?"

"I've gone into battle with Bór and his sons many times - his men are capable and I trust them, Fingon. I haven't spoken to the Dwarves yet - or anyone else for that matter, I wanted to keep this quiet until after discussing it with you - but I think they will be willing to offer aid, and while they're difficult people to like, they keep their word. It would be even better if we could get the cooperation of Círdan and Orodreth as well; if you agree that we should try this, I'll leave that matter up to you - they will not listen to me, but they might listen to you. Thingol, of course, is a lost cause, unless Orodreth can talk him into seeing sense for once - he certainly won't talk to any of us, so if Orodreth won't help, we can forget about any aid from Doriath. As for your reclusive younger brother - who knows?" Maedhros shrugged. "No one's spoken to him for years, and we have no way of sending him any messages. It would be nice to have his help, but we can't rely on it. Still, between your men and the Edain from the west, and my forces, the Dwarves, and the new Easterling men here - it ought to be enough, if we plan carefully. Especially since we know from recent events that Morgoth's more vulnerable now."

"And how do we know that, cousin?" Fingon looked skeptical.

"I heard that after the Battle of Sudden Flames, when your father challenged Morgoth, he nearly cut him to ribbons. True, it wasn't enough in the end to defeat him, but Fingon, consider - he's a Vala, your father shouldn't have even been able to scratch him, much less hurt him seriously. And now, for him to lose a Silmaril! His very fortress penetrated, and one of his most precious treasures stolen, and by a mortal man and a maiden, at that! He's lost a **lot** of power, Fingon; Beren and Lúthien would never have succeeded in that quest if he had not. Perhaps most important, with that theft of the Silmaril still fresh in everyone's minds, our people no longer view him as invincible - and neither do his. And in this situation, morale matters a great deal. Our forces will have more confidence than they have ever had at any point since our arrival on these shores, while his craven hordes no longer see their victory as assured. Now is the time to act!"

"I'm still skeptical, Russandol," Fingon replied. "When we fought the Glorious Battle, we held Dorthonion, and now we don't. Who knows what he's breeding in those woods now? We could get out on the plains and suddenly find ourselves trapped between opposing forces coming from Angband in the north and Dorthonion in the south."

"True," and Maedhros frowned slightly, "so I think we'll have to regain control of Dorthonion before we can launch the main assault. I don't like doing that - it gives away the advantage of surprise - but I don't see any other options. Exposing the rear of our forces to a completely unknown enemy is too risky."

"I'll have to think on this for a while, cousin. You make it all sound so reasonable, but for some reason your plan worries me."

"I'm not pressing you for a decision now! Of course you should think about it; take your time. But don't take too long - the longer we wait, the harder it will be to win. And this is one battle we have to win, Fingon, if your son is going to grow up to be a free man instead of one of Morgoth's thralls. We lead our people into this - now we must lead them out of it. One last hard fight, cousin, then we'll finally have the peace we've so long desired. I for one will be happy to never pick up a sword again." Maedhros smiled briefly, and continued, "And I'm sure that Maglor would enjoy more time for his music. We've spent much of our time spilling blood since our arrival on these shores. Let's finally put an end to it, Fingon."

"It's getting late, cousins, and I'm more tired than I realized," Fingon replied. "We'll talk about this more in the morning, if you don't mind; for now, I'd like to sleep on it."

"Of course; sleep well, cousin," Maglor replied. "My crazy brother wants to take you out riding tomorrow, if it stops raining, so get some rest while you can - you're going to need it."

*******

"Fingon isn't the only one who is uneasy about your plan, brother; it worries me too, but I can't explain why," Maglor said as they walked together towards their own rooms. "But you're right; in the end, we really don't have any other choice. Still, I wish that the Siege had never been broken."

"I also; now that we've truly seen the enemy we face, I don't think any of our people are eager for this fight, notwithstanding all our bold words when we departed Aman," Maedhros replied soberly. "But if we must fight - and our family at least has no choice, the Valar have permanently exiled us - then I want us to win. At least in the battle I'm proposing we have an excellent chance of doing so, while this current war of attrition is hopeless. But even more, I wish that Thingol had chosen another bride-price for his daughter."

"Why? As you said, recovery of a Silmaril has given our people renewed hope," Maglor responded.

"It has also awakened our oath, brother, and that is what worries me. 'Be he foe or friend, be he foul or clean, brood of Morgoth or bright Vala, Elda or Maia or Aftercomer, Man yet unborn upon Middle-earth, neither law, nor love, nor league of swords, dread nor danger, not Doom itself, shall defend him from Fëanor, and Fëanor's kin, whoso hideth or hoardeth, or in hand taketh, finding keepeth or afar casteth a Silmaril. This swear we all: death we will deal him ere Day's ending, woe unto the world's end! Our word hear thou, Eru Allfather! To the everlasting Darkness doom us if our deed faileth. On the holy mountain hear in witness and our vow remember, Manwë and Varda!' As long as the Siege held, there was nothing we could really do to advance our cause, and we could all put that cursed oath out of our minds, but now that that Silmaril is out of Morgoth's hands, we are bound by our oath to recover it. And I am growing increasingly concerned that one or more of our younger brothers might soon try - violently, if necessary."

"Surely you don't think our brothers would attack our own people!" Maglor said in horror.

"Why not? We spilled innocent blood before, at Alqualondë, after all, although I'll admit that wasn't a planned assault such as this would be. But I don't understand Celegrom and Curufin any more, Maglor - I would have never imagined any of our brothers doing what they did in Nargothrond, and yet they did it, tried to unseat our cousin Finrod from his own throne after he gave them aid and succor following their defeat in the Battle of Sudden Flames. I think they increasingly resent the prominence of Finarfin's and Fingolfin's children at the expense of our own family, or so they see it. And I'm very afraid that when they look at Thingol holding the Silmaril, all they see is one who is not of our House willfully withholding the gem from its rightful owners." Maedhros sighed. "That's another major reason I hope Fingon agrees to go along with my plan, although of course I couldn't tell him that."

"You've lost me, brother," Maglor said. "Care to explain?"

"Our oath requires us to regain the Silmarils from any who would withhold them from us - and that includes Morgoth, who still has two of them. And we also swore revenge against him for our grandfather's murder," and Maedhros clenched his remaining hand into a tight fist, "and that's a promise I intend to keep, and not only for Finwë's sake. For now, I can use the oath and our sworn revenge to control our unruly younger brothers; they wouldn't dare shame our House by refusing my call for aid in this war, I could declare them foresworn and disinherited. No, this conflict will redirect their energies into a productive cause - saving our people from destruction at Morgoth's hand - and I suspect that after such a victory, we could politely request the return of the last Silmaril, and the current holders would surrender it in gratitude. Our oath would be achieved - peaceably. And our people could return to the life we enjoyed before we left the shores of Aman - a prosperous and quiet one, the one we were meant to have - instead of this continuing bloodshed and horror. Fingon may hold the title of High King, Maglor, but I remember that it was our father who lead everyone into this nightmare; I'd like very much to be the one to lead them out again, and redeem our family's good name and honor. I'm tired of being regarded as a 'traitorous, Valar-cursed son of Fëanor' by the rest of the Noldor; 'Maedhros, son of Fëanor', with no embellishments, has a much more pleasant sound to my ears."

"To mine also, brother. Orodreth is still angry with Celegorm and Curufin, and I believe he spoke to Fingon without thought," Maglor replied. "Maedhros, no one who truly knows you believes that of you."

"I would not be so sure, brother," Maedhros replied quietly, "because some days I almost believe it of myself."

"Listen to me, Russandol, please - " Maglor began, but Maedhros cut him off. "We've had enough discussion for one night, little brother - my head's still spinning from all the wine Fingon poured down me during dinner. I need to get some rest if I'm to lead my cousin on a properly miserable ride in the morning - I've already picked out the perfect track, it's barely passable in the best of weather, he'll be cursing me for hours, and loving every minute of it, of course. Go get some sleep yourself, and dream of our victory to come. For I am sure that Fingon will eventually agree with me. One last hard campaign, brother, and we will finally know peace again. I can hardly wait for it to begin."

Notes:

The exact wording of the Oath of Fëanor that Maedhros quotes can be found in "The Annals of Aman" in _Morgoth's Ring (History of Middle Earth, volume 10) _on p. 112.

The formation of the Union of Maedhros is discussed in Chapter 20 of _The Silmarillion _("Of the Fifth Battle: Nirnaeth Arnoediad").


End file.
